


Sympathy for the devil

by zsomeone



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:02:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zsomeone/pseuds/zsomeone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I went and wrote a Magnus POV fic...<br/>This starts after the “showdown scene” in Dethcamp, if you know what I mean, then switches back and forth in time a bit.</p><p>Later I wrote another, which is added here as a 2nd chapter.  They can both stand alone though, if you want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sympathy for the devil

_*Three days later*_

The nurse tells me I’ve been awake on and off the whole time, but this is the first I can remember. My face fucking hurts and there’s some bulky pad covering my left eye. I want to rip it off but she’s holding my wrists and calling for the doctor.  
I’m clearly in a hospital and I don’t want to be here.   
Why am I here? I can’t remember what happened.   
Maybe a car wreck?

The doctor comes in, some fussy looking little guy. I’m not impressed.  
“Mr. Hammersmith, you seem much more alert today! Are you experiencing much pain?”  
Yes of course, but I can deal with it so I just shrug. “What’s wrong with me?” I motion toward the bandage on my face.  
He flips open my chart. “Severe concussion, hairline fracture of the left cheekbone, and detached retina in the left eye. The eye needs surgery or I’m afraid you’ll lose your sight in it permanently.”

I don’t respond. I still can’t remember what happened and I don’t want to ask. And surgery, yeah that’s not going to happen, not with having no insurance. Maybe it’s not as bad as they think?  
There’s nothing I can do about it if it is.  
“Any more questions?”  
“Yeah, when can I leave?”  
“Let’s say tomorrow, if you remain alert.”

Later that night when everything is quiet I get up and make my way into the bathroom. I’m kind of dizzy and a little unsteady, but I don’t know if it’s from the concussion or whatever painkillers they have me on. It’s just my head though, the rest of me seems to be all right.  
Looking in the mirror, I carefully peel the patch off my eye. I have to know.  
My left eye is very red, as if it’s full of blood. I close my right eye and the world descends into red shadows...

Red, like the lighting in the jam room.   
And I remember.  
He dared to criticize how I run my band. Instead of backing me up, he dared to defy me. Suddenly it was all too much to take anymore, I remember pulling my knife... and then I remember nothing.  
I know he did this to me, so I know I didn’t kill him.  
 _Everything_ had just gone red.

*****

Four years after they promised us fame, and we’re still living in this shitty apartment building. Three years since our debut album, we have a following but it just isn’t enough. The reviews bother me the most, “another band sort of like Cannibal Corpse if you’re in to that sort of thing.”  
We’re indisputably metal, but we aren’t distinctive enough yet. I have the plan, the vision, and the determination to get us there but my band works against me at every turn.  
We need to get back in the studio soon, but we don’t have enough polished material yet.

This is _my_ band, I hand picked each and every one of them to put this sound together.  
Pickles has given me trouble since the beginning, he’s older than the others and an ex glam-fag on top of that. He keeps thinking he can just change things, that’s not how it works!  
Sometimes I almost regret picking him, but he’s a good solid drummer, or at least he is when he does what he’s supposed to.  
But he needs to be constantly reminded...

Skwisgaar, the dumb blond foreigner, actually tried to go behind my back. I get to practice a few minutes late to find him showing the rest of the band a different guitar line.  
No, _wrong_ , that’s not how the song goes!  
His fingers fall silent, wilting under my glare, but I know I can’t just let this insubordination go. After practice, I corner him in his room. He doesn’t look happy to see me, in face he looks downright scared.  
Good.

I sit down beside him. “Why did I pick you, Skwisgaar?”  
“Because... because I can plays whats you shows me?”  
“Because you play what I _tell_ you to. Say it!” He’s definitely afraid, but is he afraid _enough_?  
He dutifully repeats it. “Because I plays whats you tells me to.”  
“That’s right.” I take out my knife and grab his wrist. He struggles breifly, but freezes when I move the knife closer.

I trace the blade across his fingers, too lightly to even leave red marks but he can feel every touch, trembling in my grasp. “You play what I tell you or you don’t play at all. Remember that.”  
He nods to my satisfaction, so I consider the message received.  
Fucking hotshot, thinking he’s the shit because he’s been in lots of different bands. Who’s ever heard of _any_ of your old bands, Skwisgaar? That’s right, nobody!  
Nobody at all.

Nathan used to be easy, just a teenager with an incredible growl that I heard by chance. His band was shit, but I knew I could work with that voice and make it into something truly memorable.  
He has no other talent, can’t even play bass and most everybody can manage that, but at least he can write lyrics. One less thing I have to do.  
But over the last year he’s been changing, he doesn’t jump when I say to anymore. The others, pathetic as they are, have taken to standing behind him when we argue, as if he can protect them.  
He still respects me, but something has changed between us.

He’s said it a few times now, the “our band” crap. No it’s not _our_ band, it’s _my_ band that I’m doing my very best to make a success of. He may be old enough to drink in any state now, but he’s still just a kid. His job is to get out in front and look good for the fans, sing, and leave the rest to me.  
I’ve seen the looks he gives me when I correct the others. He’s never intervened, but he may be working up to it. And then what?  
Someday soon he may challenge me for leadership of the band.

Murderface gives me the least amount of trouble, he does his job and keeps his mouth shut. He’s afraid of me and that’s fine, I know he has a bit of a temper but I’m older and wiser and a hell of a lot faster. He knows he wouldn’t stand a chance if he fought me.  
I know he carries a knife too, but my long reach makes his own blade worthless.  
At least he always play what I’ve taught him to though, never tries to “improve” it like the others have.  
If they won’t love then they’ll fear me, but either way I will see my band succeed.

*****

The manager visits briefly and tells me the whole story, or at least the version of things that he got from the rest of the band. Apparently I attacked Nathan and stabbed him in the back. “Nathan is not pressing charges,” he informs as if he’s doing me a big favor.  
Nathan nearly killed me, I should be the one pressing charges if anyone is.  
This is going to make things more difficult between all of us, but I refuse to give up. I _know_ this band can make it big, I just have to keep pushing them.

The doctor has released me, I put on my clothes. He tells me to keep my eye covered, but fuck that. Without surgery it’s not going to make any difference anyway, and I hate the patch. I peel it off carefully, my cheek still hurts like a bitch, and leave it on my pillow. It might be worth money even, after all I’m the lead guitarist and creative vision of Dethklok.  
Or they can throw it away for all I care.  
The manager is waiting to give me a ride home. He doesn’t try to make conversation, and for that I’m grateful.

They’re waiting for me in the jam room. The others are hiding behind Nathan, which isn’t a really good sign.  
“We made a decision. You’re not in Dethklok anymore.”  
I don’t say anything, just leave the room. I _want_ to tear into them, show them how stupid they’re being, but I’m not physically up to the confrontation.  
They’re _nothing_ without me, they have no chance at all now. Who’s going to play lead now, _Swkisgaar_? That’s almost funny. Without me, Pickles will probably turn them into a remix of Snakes n Barrels.

I pack my things and load them in my car, but I don’t leave yet. There’s no way I can let them kick me out and suffer no consequences, I’m biding my time until nightfall, until they’re asleep.  
They think I’ll go quietly.   
They don’t really know me at all.  
My rage builds as the time drags on, the unfairness of it all is crushing.  
I guess I’ll find out how effective our crappy soundproofing job is, because I’m going to make some noise.

Finally it’s time. My brain is still trying to use both eyes, overlaying a red haze across my vision. It’s somehow fitting.  
I stand in the jam room with their precious instruments, I know they can’t afford to replace them any more than they can afford to replace me. I pick up Murderface’s bass, then put it back. He’s never openly crossed me and may not have even voted against me... I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt this time.  
Besides, Skwisgaar’s guitar will do nicely. He’s so protective of the dumb thing I’m surprised he doesn’t sleep with it.

I pick it up by the neck, holding it like a club, the red haze still covering my vision. Taking aim on the drums I smash it down repeatedly, popping heads, shattering cymbals, and cracking cases. I’m actually impressed with how well the guitar is holding up to this abuse, I have to resort to smashing it into the floor several times before the neck finally gives out and snaps.  
I’ve destroyed all I can, and apparently they haven’t heard a thing. It’s time to go. But first, I grab a random can of our spray paint (red, how appropriate) and leave them a little message on the wall.

When Dethklok has faded into oblivion and their careers all lay in ruins, they’ll regret firing me. They’ll think back and they’ll remember what could have been, all the potential they threw away because they didn’t want to listen.   
They’re _nothing_ without me.  
I will never forgive this betrayal.  
They may think this is over, but my revenge has barely begun.


	2. Sympathy is hard to find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus POV again, since we’ve seen more of him

I tried to forget, to move on. I tried to lose myself in other projects, but they got too big, they were everywhere I turned. I couldn’t even turn on the tv or radio without being subjected to some mention of them. _How could I ever forget when they kept shoving it in my face?_

I didn’t know much about the new guy, he was usually left off the Dethklok Minute. I knew his name of course, Toki Wartooth, and the basic background information that everyone had access to, but that was all. Well, and of course I knew how he looked on stage. I never went to one of their concerts, _but the news won’t leave me alone._

So I started watching the news, reading the articles. I took the time to appreciate that Nathan’s gotten fat, and so has Murderface. Skwisgaar looks about the same, which annoys me, other than that he dresses differently now. I wonder if his belt buckle is in imitation of mine? It almost _has_ to be. Pickles has changed the least, maybe he’s gotten a little balder but it’s hard to tell with that terrible hairstyle of his.

They stuck together, going places as a group and seeming to have no life at all aside from the band. All of them but this Toki, _he_ wasn’t afraid to go off on his own. Even running off to play in a tribute band as fucking _Skwisgaar_... Some reports I’ve read speculate that he may be a bit retarded. Or “mentally challenged” or whatever the fuck you’re supposed to call the retards these days.

I learned about the Revengencers on a news report, after the massive attack on Mordhaus. Unfortunately they were unsuccessful, though they did at least manage to take out that bastard Ofdensen. People who hated Dethklok, now those were my kind of people. They were surprisingly hard to find though, they had scattered to avoid prosecution and it took me over a year to hunt them down. The nameless metal masked man welcomed me and gave me high rank. _Now it was time to plan..._

It was I who sent Toki the Rock-a-Roonie Fantasy Camp brochure, I wasn’t sure he’d go for it but it seemed likely from what I’d learned of him. Of course they had been delighted to let me be on the staff, though I planned to bail on them if Toki didn’t sign up.  
But of course he did, showing up in that lame disguise. I’d never seen him in person and I recognized him instantly, I have no idea how no one else did.

When it was his turn to give a little speech on the stage, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Maybe the reports were right, maybe he really was retarded, because how could someone be in _Dethklok_ and have that kind of attitude? It was possibly the least metal thing I’d ever heard in my life.  
He didn’t react when they introduced me, he didn’t know who I was. That’s when I realized that getting close to him might be a lot easier than I’d thought.

He ran to me for protection when the bullies chased him, and that’s when I changed my mind. Not about my long term plan, I’d held it far too long to deviate now, but about anything happening at the camp. Instead I would become his “friend” and then I could choose my own time later on, something truly epic. I didn’t yet know what it would be, but I was confident that the perfect situation would present itself.

Then Dethklok showed up to “save” him, in bathrobes. Clearly they don’t still trust me but I got to stand there and look like the good guy, even put an arm around Toki’s shoulders right in front of them. The kid’s pathetic, show him a little attention and he lights up like he won the lottery.  
They took him home with them of course, but he already had my number in his phone. I would be the friend he so badly wanted, and when the time was right he would come to me without a fuss.

I almost liked him, he was hard not to like. _Almost._ Always so happy and cheerful on the phone, and wanting to go “pal around” as he called it. But the plans with the others were made, and I wouldn’t deviate from them. We still didn’t know when it would happen, but we had plans ready for several situations that might present themselves. Toki was a necessary piece of the puzzle, I had to have him in case the others lived. They’d always been extremely lucky, I couldn’t rule out their survival.

Roy Cornickelson’s death was _perfect_ , the funeral would be somewhere isolated. The location was easy enough to find, and expendables rigged the explosives on the coffin and in the gave hole itself. A simple call to Toki confirmed my seat in the audience, and it wasn’t too hard to convince him to sit with me instead of with the others. Across the aisle, if things worked like they were supposed to they wouldn’t be able to reach us once the true festivities started. That hot producer was there too, I wasn’t sure how highly they valued her but I decided that we’d include her in the plans.

Nathan’s speech didn’t move me at all, other than my being slightly amused by its similarity to a deathbed confession, which it unknowingly was. Watching all of them light up like that was truly sickening, nobody shed a tear for me when I got kicked out of the fucking band. But I reassure myself that my revenge is very near now.  
There will be no survivors, everyone here will die with the band. Everyone except my people, although we expect heavy losses. As they say, _it’s time for Dethklok to die for us_.

Right on time, the world exploded. To my extreme disappointment I see that they all survived the initial blast, though they’re across the newly opened channel from us. Toki tries to go to them, what the fuck does he think he can do, walk on air? Dumbass. I pull him back, telling him to stay with me.  
One of our guys has the producer, but seems unsure what to do with her. Toki tries to pull away from me again, ungrateful little bastard, so I twist his arm up behind him to hold him still.  
I can see them all watching me, and I know I have the upper hand.

The unnamed man is fighting Ofdensen, who’s unfortunately holding his own so far. Our members are destroying their hooded employees in various fashions, we’re taking heavy losses but the chasm itself keeps some of us safe. They won’t risk shooting me, no matter how much I know they want to, not with me holding Toki like this. They won’t risk hitting him.  
I watch Ofdensen use a corpse for a shield, that’s a new one. It’s only a matter of time before that fails him. Should I wait for him to fall, or should I go ahead and demoralize them?

“Magnus, now!” my college yells, and so I act. Pulling my knife I hold it high for all to see, then bring it down and into his back. The other guy does the same to the producer but with much less finesse, running her through.  
Toki sags against me, he probably can’t tell how badly he’s been hurt or he’s given up. It’s looking like Dethklok is _unfortunately_ going to survive once again, so it’s time to leave. When the next series of explosions rock the earth, I retreat and drag Toki with me.

Those of us who remain meet at some houses we’ve temporarily claimed, it should be a while before the occupants are missed. I drag Toki into one of the rooms and dump him on the bed, he’s not all that tall but he’s solid weight and I’m worn out now. I know they dragged the producer off too, but I don’t know or care what’s happened to her. She’s probably dead.  
Toki is not, though he’s completely unresponsive. I roll him to his stomach and peel up the jacket. I’m really not sure how badly I’ve injured him but there’s a lot of blood, his white shirt is now red and sticky. 

If Dethklok survived, then Toki is more valuable as a hostage than dead. It’s too late to change anything, so I peel up the shirt to find out what I’ve done to him.  
This isn’t what I tried to do at all! It was supposed to be a shallow stab for effect, not this mess! This isn’t just a simple flesh wound, the knife slid 3/4 of the way across his back. I won’t be sure until I clean this up, but I think I’m seeing bone, ribs, and cuts into the muscle. His back was arched when I struck, so the cut is shallower across his spine but I’m not at all sure that it’s shallow enough.

If he’s paralyzed we’ll have to go ahead and kill him instead, that would make him too much of a burden and useless as for bargaining. Wheelchair death metal? I don’t think so. But there’s no way to tell until he wakes up.  
Using my knife, the _same_ knife, I cut the clothes off his upper body. Our first aid supplies are minimal, but I’ve heard they you can use SuperGlue instead of stitches which is good because I can’t sew. I do have some glue though, I bought it for something else but that will have to wait.

Leaving him briefly, I gather supplies. A pan of water, a washcloth and several towels, some spray-on antiseptic which seems to be the only thing we have, and band-aids. I’m not sure what I think I can do with band-aids, but I take them anyway. He’s still unconscious and that’s probably for the best. Sitting beside him, I start washing the blood from his skin. I place towels beside him to catch the water and pour some into the cut, I don’t know any other way to clean it.  
Finally I get it looking reasonably clean, and spray it with the stuff. Now I just have to wait for it all to dry before I try gluing him back together.

While I wait, I take a closer look at the marks I’d noticed while I was cleaning. They’re faint and obviously very old, but yes those are scars. Someone cut the shit out of this kid when he was likely no more than a small child. Well, I guess one more scar won’t be that big of a deal to him then.  
If he’s not paralyzed. If he ever even wakes up.  
There’s a radio playing in the other room, I hear the news. The rest of the band _and_ that fucking Ofdensen made it out, _again_. But they can’t be Dethklok without this one I hold here, _so in a way I’ve still won._

Judging him dry enough, I take the glue from my pocket and open it. I really have no idea how to proceed, how am I supposed to hold all that closed? How can the glue set if I can’t? I don’t think I have enough glue to do the whole thing anyway, it’s only a small tube. Normally you never need very much, and it doesn’t keep. Well I have to do something, so I try pinching a section together. I apply a short span of glue and count to thirty, then carefully release. It holds, excellent. I work my way across pinching and gluing sections. There will be small gaps, but it’s working better than expected.

After a moment of consideration, I use a few of the band-aids as backup, maybe they’ll help the glue hold together. The end result doesn’t look half bad, it’s not professional but it should do the job. I check my phone, surprised to see how much time has passed.  
Well he’s going to be miserable when he wakes up, but that can’t be helped since we have no pain killers. I don’t really care, except that it’s useless unless we can record it and send it to them somehow. That’s a pretty good idea actually, if there’s a way to make it untraceable.

“Far... jeg beklager...” It’s barely a whisper.  
I have no idea what the fuck he just said, but he’s awake. Maybe. He might be dreaming, his eyes are open but completely blank. I squat down beside the bed, on face level with him. “Hey Toki.”  
Slowly, his eyes shift and seem to focus on me. His face takes on a confused expression. “Magnus? What happens?”  
I don’t have any answer that I feel I can give him. Does he even remember any of it?

“Do you remember anything that happened today?”  
“ _Whys_? I thoughts you was my frined.”  
Yeah, he remembers all right. “I don’t have any friends.” I don’t want them either.  
“You could has. I trieds to be.”  
Yeah he tried, I’ll give him that. He’s too calm, it’s hard for me to deal with. Damnit kid, why can’t you just cuss me out, hate me? _Stop being so fucking nice!_

Deciding to ignore that last part, I move on to the other issue at hand. On tv they tell people to wiggle their toes, I guess that’s a good enough test. “Can you wiggle your toes?”  
“Whys?”  
“Are you doing it?” I can’t tell, I never took his boots off.  
“I don’ts know, it all hurts too bads to be sures. I still gots toes though, right?”  
“Uh yeah, you still have toes. I’m going to take your boots off, okay?”

I raise his pants leg and pull a boot, I can tell by his breathing that this hurts be he keeps quiet. Damn boots are tight, but with some twisting I get it to come off. I look at his face, his eyes are glazed over again like he’s somewhere else. I work on the other boot, it comes easier since I know how to twist it now. “Okay Toki, wiggle your toes.”  
He just stares, I get no response at all.

Squatting back down beside the bed, I try again. “Hey Toki!” Still nothing, so I snap my fingers in front of his face.  
He twitches, and seems to somewhat focus again. “Toki, I need you to wiggle your toes for me.”  
“Whats?”  
“ _Just do it!_ ” Instead he closes his eyes and stays still, too still. I think back, searching for options. Once when I was little, out dog got hit by a car. I remember what the vet did before they put him down, he pinched his toes.

Well I’d already stabbed and SuperGlued this kid, now I was going to test him like a dying dog. I moved to his feet, pinching a toe through his socks. He doesn’t respond so I pinch much harder, and finally I get a response as he jerks his foot to the side. Well, that leg works, time to test the other. “Are you going to wiggle your toes for me, or do I have to pinch you again?”  
No response, so I pinch another toe and fortunately he again responds. I have my hostage then, I’m still in this game.

He’s passed back out or whatever, so I leave him for now. It’s not like he’s capable of attempting escape, the pain alone should make it nearly impossible for him to even get out of bed. As he heals I’ll make arrangement to restrain him, or perhaps I can even win him fully to my side. That would be easier, and much sweeter.  
I’ll take some video later, whenever he wakes up again. I still don’t know if we’ll be able to use it, but it would be good to have just in case. Being prepared for anything is important, because plans don’t often go as you’d like. _I know that far too well..._

We’ll acquire some drugs, veterinary ones if we have to, and feed him some antibiotics just to be safe. I’m sure my cleaning job leaves a lot to be desired, but I’ve heard that bleeding cleans wounds best and he did bleed quite a lot. Maybe we’ll even let him have some painkillers, if we find any, but maybe not because we don’t want him feeling good enough to be a problem.  
He’ll probably sleep for a while.   
_I sit back, dreaming up various possibilities of sweet, sweet revenge._


End file.
